


Goodnight, Night Vale.  Goodbye.

by scifiwritergirl



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 10:08:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifiwritergirl/pseuds/scifiwritergirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil explains how he came to work in the radio station, and the toll it has taken on his psyche.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goodnight, Night Vale.  Goodbye.

**Author's Note:**

> Existential meltdown in 3... 2... 1...
> 
> (Possible Trigger Warning: this fanfiction includes non-graphic allusions to character suicide)

_Years ago, we lived in a democracy._

_Children were free to play outside without fear of black hooded figures or the deformed eight-foot tall creatures that optimistic citizens supposed to be ‘angels.’_

_We were happy._

_Everyone was happy._

_Our biggest concerns were ‘what should be for dinner?’ or ‘what should I wear today?’, but worries of that persuasion have been long gone._

_When the Secret Police were formed, we had no choice but to accept our fate.  There were few murmurs of rebellion against the authoritarian law enforcers, but fear had already invaded our once peaceful lives, and none in that small oppositional minority had the nerve to act out against the World Government’s mysterious officers._

_In fact, in our panic and desperation, most citizens welcomed the Secret Police.  We craved law; we craved order.  In a land where nothing else made sense, we thirsted for the sweet stability of the Council’s government.  Perhaps, we believed, their extremist operations could bring a balance to the overwhelming chaos around us.  Perhaps, we hoped, their rule would offset the mysterious goings-on and be more tolerable than this madness we had come to know.  Our totalitarian government was thought to be a sign of hope, a sign that civilization could still prevail in the madness._

_We were wrong._

_What was once seen as necessary precautionary measures spiraled into unorganized panic.  We believed the Secret Police to be immune to the fear and uncertainty that haunted our being.  We thought that they, in their ever-present semblance of control, would not succumb to the terror._

_Again—we were wrong.  In time, they grew more afraid than any of us, and the citizens were forced to pay the price._

_A curfew was set.  This was understandable.  A higher tax rate was set.  This, too, was to be expected.  Penalties such as death and indefinite imprisonment arose for suspicious individuals and groups that met without Council approval.  We were powerless to stop the tyranny._

_At first, even children and babies were slaughtered in the fear.  Infants who developed abnormalities were assumed to be dangerous, as though they were the cause of the unnatural occurrences happening in the area.  We had a regular witch-hunt, full-on Salem style.  These people were innocent, more victims than perpetrators, and soon the Council realized that they couldn’t continue killing the citizens’ babies.  If they wanted citywide cooperation, they would have to give off a veneer of compassion, however thin and fluid it may be._

_They released a statement accepting that persons affected by the local abnormalities were not guilty of any crime, and saying that they were looking into the cause of their ‘ailments’.  Months later, the Council released new statements, claiming that the local radiation spikes and disastrous phenomena were causing us to mutate or, as they preferred to call it, ‘_ adapt’ _to our new environment._

_They told us we were to accept any physical, environmental, or mental abnormalities occurring in the town as if they were commonplace.  And we did.  When our children were born with extra limbs or extraordinary abilities, we pledged to love them just the same.  Inexplicable occurrences defied the laws of nature, and we chose to ignore them.  Little by little, even the adults began to ‘adapt,’ and we carried on with our gifts and deformities like all the rest._

_We act as if all of this is normal because, if it is not, then we must face the overwhelming truth: that we are all just frail and inconsequential beings dwelling in a plane of existence that our limited minds cannot comprehend._

_And that, my friends, is terrifying._

_Some believe that all that has happened here is due to a rupture in spacetime, causing unthinkable manifestations of scientifically explainable phenomena.  Others attribute the oddities to witchcraft, aliens, God, Satan.  It doesn’t even matter which theory is right.  Whatever the cause of our suffering, we are powerless to stop it._

_In my life, only one thing is certain…_

_If I leave this broadcasting station, I will die.  My duty is simple: to report the news as calmly and as reassuringly as I can._

_For all I know, no one is even listening._

_For all I know, every human but me is dead._

_I’ve been trapped in this facility for twenty-five months. Seven hundred sixty days.  I have not since stepped outside or interacted with anyone outside the confines of this lonely chamber._

_For all I know, the interns that come and go do not even exist._

_For all I know, I am the last person on Earth._

_I worry constantly that my clairvoyance is nothing but psychosis.  I worry constantly that it is not the news I report, but instead my own sick and twisted fantasy of life continuing where life is not.  Could I be living in a delusion?  Is there even any news to report, or am I merely babbling into a microphone whose chord leads to nowhere?_

_If I stepped outside, would I even see the sun?_

_For all I know, the sun burned out years ago._

_And then I finally come to the conclusion that I may not even exist.  I am caught in this plane of repetition, reporting strange happenings that reveal themselves to my mind, without any validation that they are in fact happening in real life.  I sometimes wonder why the interns never talk and find myself wondering if they are merely figments of my imagination.  I have no proof that I exist, and I have no proof that any of_ you _exist, dear listeners.  You cannot fathom the nihilism that has become part of my job description, nor would I wish that level of understanding upon anyone._

_It is better that no one understands.  It means that, if there are in fact people to understand anything, they can live a slightly less haunted, and immensely more fulfilling life than the one I have been forced to lead._

_In short, my loves, nothing here is logical.  Madness is repetition while expecting a new result.  I was told that one day I would be allowed to leave here, but that day has yet to come._

_Seven hundred sixty tallies mark the wall beside my Styrofoam cot.  I will not make a seven hundred sixty-first.  So forgive me._ Please _forgive me, my dear listeners.  But this will be my final broadcast._

_I have no other option.  The life I’m living is dim and shallow, filled with unanswered questions and cries echoing in the darkness.  The only voice I hear is my own, reverberating off the cement walls and bouncing back to myself, reminding me, yet again, that I am alone.  I cannot handle this shadow of a life anymore.  I must end it, or else go eternally mad in my prison cell of a body._

_I apologize for any grief this might cause you, but look on the bright side: if my death causes you grief, then it means that you do, in fact, probably exist.  And that, my friends, must be a beautiful feeling._

_This is Ceil Baldwin signing off… ultimately and for the last time._

_Goodnight, my beautiful listeners._

_And goodbye._


End file.
